


"Chicks Dig Angels"

by a_carnal_mink



Series: While The World Was Burning Down [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-30
Updated: 2011-09-30
Packaged: 2017-10-24 04:18:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/258926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_carnal_mink/pseuds/a_carnal_mink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'So that's lust.' Castiel completely ignored Dean's questions. 'I can see how it can be so… compelling.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	"Chicks Dig Angels"

**Author's Note:**

> Website: [weltonbmarsland.com](https://weltonbmarsland.com/)

Chicks dig angels. It's something that, growing up, Dean never really got, but hey, he never really got the shadow-box shelves full of glass ponies either, or the figurines of unicorns, or the mobiles of sparkly dolphins. There were just some things that had always been pretty clearly "chick stuff" and that was that. Sure, occasionally, if the universe was feeling kind, there might be a girl here and there – not every highschool, but usually every two or three, at least – whose bedroom was filled with posters of rock bands instead of all that other girly crap. But Dean had twigged from fairly early on, that holding out too much hope of meeting girls like that in every school was just setting himself up to be severely disappointed. If a dude wanted to be invited into a girl's bedroom (and hopefully invited into more than that besides), then there was just some shit that had to be put up with. And pink bed linen, mountains of stuffed toys, posters of who-the-fuck-ever pretty boys, the aforementioned ponies, unicorns, dolphins and angels all definitely fell under the heading of "some shit" as far as Dean had always been concerned.

'There was this one chick when I was fifteen,' Dean confided across the graffiti and tequila puddles of the saloon table. 'Her name was… Belinda! That was it. Belinda.' He grinned lopsidedly at the distant memory of her, washing it away with another swig of beer. 'Belinda was the first girl I ever went down on.' His eyes narrowed slightly. 'You know what I mean by that?'

Across the table, Castiel merely gave Dean an impassive look. 'You put your mouth upon her.'

'I, well. Yeah. That. So anyways, Belinda was an angel girl. Anything with wings and wet droopy eyes, this girl had it in her bedroom.' He snorted softly into his beer glass, even though Castiel hadn't even reacted to the "wet droopy eyes" dig. 'She even – get this – she even had wings of her own! Stupid fluffy white feathered things that she used to wear to parties. That's taking things a bit fucking far, don't you think? Anyway. So we're in her room. And she's practically got my head in a goddamn thigh-lock. And I'm getting my first taste – '

'Dean.'

Dean cut himself off at the angel's quiet interruption, half a broken apology mumbled into his beer. He'd had a point when he started telling this story, he was sure. 'I, um. Crap.'

Castiel leaned forward slightly, his loosened tie trailing dangerously close to a rivulet of tequila that was getting ready to start dripping off the table at his side, and pinned Dean with the blueness of perfect understanding. 'That is what you associate me with?'

'Dude. I mean it as a compliment.' Dean winced at his choice of words. 'You get that, right? It's, it's a good memory. A _really_ good memory. And it's… well, it's, full of angels.' His voice weakened as he spoke, ending his sentence in little more than a squeak.

They were both quiet for a few moments, then Castiel asked softly, 'Was she pious?'

'Uh, no. Not especially. I mean, c'mon Cas, she was entertaining guys like me!'

The very tiniest of smiles threatened Castiel's mouth at that. 'But she believed in angels.'

Dean placed both hands solidly around his beer glass and shrugged at it. 'She thought you were cute.' He glanced up at his companion. 'I guess that might be the same thing.'

Castiel leaned back from the table again, gaze never wavering from Dean's, tie still miraculously tequila-free. 'You believe in angels, Dean.'

A few seconds ticked by before Dean's alcohol impaired brain realised Castiel _wasn't_ going to continue that line of inquiry, that he _wasn't_ about to accuse Dean of thinking angels, or at least one particular angel, was "cute". He was just sitting there, all perfect and un-tequila'd, looking too good for a dive like this and probably even smelling sweeter than a guy who'd been in here more than an hour had any right to.

Dean was suddenly acutely aware of the graveyard dirt lodged under his fingernails and the fact that the shirt he was wearing was the same shirt he'd worn yesterday. And the day before that as well. Castiel just tilted his head slightly and let the Blue Gaze Of Doom soften everywhere it fell on Dean.

'You look tired.'

'I'm fine.'

'You look tired, Dean.'

'I said I'm – ' Hands were on him, strong hands hauling him to his feet. He hadn't even noticed Cas stand up. He managed to throw some crumpled notes onto the table as his angel propelled him toward the door, one arm firm about his waist, their hips pressing together as they walked.

There was a chill in the night air as they crossed the parking lot, though Dean was finding it a little difficult to register much more than the dusty smell of a well travelled trenchcoat and the faintly coconutty scent of hair even darker and messier than Sammy's.

'Chicks dig angels,' Dean slurred, for no apparent reason.

'Yes, Dean,' Cas responded dutifully and pulled Dean to a stop in front of a motel door that proclaimed the room within to be The Sixties Suite. Dean secretly kinda loved the motels that went all-out on different themes.

'How's he doin' in there?' Dean suddenly wanted to know, his entire field of vision taken up with Castiel Right There, Right Next To Him, Right Up Against Him.

'How is who doing in where?' Even in the crappy light that the bare bulb above the door was giving off, Cas' eyes were super blue and sharp and concerned. Dean secretly kinda loved Cas' eyes.

'Your vessel,' Dean said, voice pitched lower in case Sam was still awake. 'The dude inside you. Or… the dude you're inside. Whatever. Sounds dirty. How's he doin'?'

And, fucking hell, if that didn't earn him an honest to goodness _smile_. An angel smile Right There, Right Up Against Him.

'He finds you amusing,' Cas murmured around the smile. 'And he thanks you for asking.'

'Hm. Good. Make sure he knows that I'm, er, that I'm sorry about this.'

Castiel might have started to ask what "this" Dean was referring to, but even if he did, it didn't matter. Not when Dean was turning into the angel's space more and putting his mouth on him.

It was a bit weird, kissing someone so close to his own height. And someone who had stubble. But there was nothing at all weird about the way Cas' hands grabbed onto him, or the way his mouth opened on a soft groan and let Dean in. It only felt right, sliding a hand inside the collar of the trenchcoat to lay his palm over Castiel's nape, tilting his head a little so that their fit was even better. His other hand, Dean slid along Cas' jaw, thumbing at the short bristles of hair as he deepened the kiss. He felt hands move inside his leather jacket, touching him through two layers of shirts, sliding along his sides, arms wrapping around his waist, strong arms that had just hauled his drunken ass home. Dean broke the kiss and mouthed across the angel's cheek, dragging in a ragged breath as his lips caught on unshaven skin that Dean wanted to kiss and lick at for hours.

Castiel rolled his face against Dean's and hummed quietly, a drawn out mmm sound like he'd just tasted chocolate or pie for the first time. His hands moved lower down Dean's body, latching onto his backside as though he'd only just realised it was there and grabbable. Dean's eyes shot open at that, making him all the more aware of having had them closed.

'Cas – '

'He says, apology accepted.'

Dean's brain had to swim through the tequila and beer for a second or two to pick up the threads of that comment, but it got there. He huffed a bit of a laugh against Cas' temple and leaned back a little way, putting some space between them.

'This gonna get us in trouble? Get you in trouble?'

'So that's lust.' Castiel completely ignored Dean's questions. 'I can see how it can be so… compelling.'

If Dean wasn't mistaken, that look Right There was the closest thing to an angel smirk he'd probably ever see. Bizarrely, his mind flashed him a sense memory of looking up from between the slender thighs of a beautiful girl and seeing fluffy white wings spread out behind her as she pressed her shoulders back into her silly pink bed linen.

Dean was gonna fall back into this, he just knew it. He was gonna keep getting up in Castiel's space and getting drawn in by those super blue eyes, and he was gonna remember the feel of his ass in Castiel's hands, and he was gonna want to kiss and lick at him for hours, and he was gonna… He was gonna.

'You have to tell me how dangerous it's getting,' he told Cas gruffly. He took a couple of steps back, moving their bodies completely apart, their hands no longer on each other. He patted his jacket down until he found his room key in the breast pocket. 'Because if some fucker wants to cast you down or mess around with your grace or some shit, they gotta go through me first, you understand? So you tell me if things are lookin' less than awesome, okay? Okay, Cas?'

Sure, Castiel was probably thinking that Dean was just a puny human and all his bluster and bluff wouldn't count for shit if push came to shove against a heavenly decree, but at least the angel was good enough to not go saying it right to Dean's face.

'Very well.' Castiel squared his shoulders and put his hands into the trenchcoat's pockets, head slightly tilted like usual as the Blue Gaze Of Doom settled comfortably on Dean. 'I will inform you if your mouth is putting me in danger.'

Dean shook his head a little. 'Teaching you sarcasm was a lousy idea.' He turned to fit the room key into the lock, sobriety prickling at his skin as he felt Castiel suddenly press against Dean's back, his breath on Dean's neck.

'It was a good memory,' Cas murmured against him, voice deep and low and for no one else but him. 'And it was full of angels.'

Then Dean was alone, breath hitching in response to the recent proximity and the promise hanging heavy in an angel's murmur.

'Sonofabitch,' he whispered to himself. 'Turning me into a chick!'

**Author's Note:**

> Written April 2009.


End file.
